


howl.

by tieflingenthusiast



Category: Disgaea (Games), Disgaea 4: A Promise Unforgotten
Genre: M/M, Mostly Gen, gets gayer the further on you go, local man experiences a feeling, spoilers for the whole maingame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tieflingenthusiast/pseuds/tieflingenthusiast
Summary: Fenrich does not abandon Valvatorez.
Relationships: Arutina | Artina | Vulcanus/Barubatoze | Valvatorez, Barubatoze | Valvatorez/Fenrihhi | Fenrich
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	howl.

He should walk away when Lord Valvatorez makes the promise that leads to him losing his power.

A man so strict in his own morals that he chooses death over minor disgrace is not a man that can rule all with unquestioned authority. Too righteous, too rigid, too ‘proud and noble’ a demon to be truly ferocious.

Right?

Except oh, if that’s the case, then how did the famed and feared Tyrant ever rise in the first place? Fenrich doubts there was ever a time where this man, this _demon_ was rugged and rotten. Straight-laced and by-the-book is how he rolls, even if Valvatorez himself is the one writing the book and the book makes no sense to anyone but him.

Fenrich does not abandon Valvatorez.

Fenrich does not abandon Valvatorez when, starved and sickly, his power begins to wane. His majesty dies off, reducing him to the form of a smaller man, a weaker man, a man that can barely fill the Tyrant’s own robes.

Fenrich does not abandon Valvatorez on the days he is consumed by frustrations with his lacking energy. He stands ever-loyal through his Lord’s mounting irritation with what he can no longer do. He picks him up when he collapses in exhaustion, and he imposes limits accordingly. Every moment, his goals grow more distant from him. Every moment, Fenrich’s life becomes unfathomably more unbearable. This would be an optimal time to leave him for another.

Fenrich still does not abandon Valvatorez.

Demons come, trying their luck against a dying opponent. They are large. They are solid and strong. Chiseled faces and barrel chests and enormous, rippling muscles. Any one of them would be privileged to have Fenrich’s conniving, tactical brain among their forces. Fenrich in turn would be privileged to have any one of these brutish meatheads under his thumb. But he does not want any one of them, is the thing. For reasons beyond his understanding, he only wants Valvatorez. He fends all of them off for the sake of his Lord.

While he considers it time and time again, considers being the one to plunge an iron blade into Valvatorez’s slender back, or a wooden stake into Valvatorez’s shriveled heart, he never does. He fights for him, throws himself at opponents many times his size and skill, all to protect Lord Valvatorez’s right to wither away in woe for a woman, for his _wittle human sweetheart_ , for his darling lost Lenore. His Lord may insist that that wasn’t how the two of them were, but he can’t hide his longing sighs and dreamy, far-off looks whenever he’s struck by a reminder of _her._

Fenrich has all of the pink-haired servants dismissed.

It’s not like he’s jealous or anything. No demon would ever find themselves jealous of a human in that way. 

To prove how extremely-not-jealous he is, he makes sure to have a few succubi stick around, should their ‘service’ be required. Because it’s not jealousy, and he’s not jealous, and any supposed physical intimacy his Lord may or may not partake in away from him means nothing to him.

(The succubi leave with the rest of the underlings when better offers come along. Just as well - between Fenrich’s _preference_ and Valvatorez’s all-consuming angst, they were starving the same as their Lord by sticking around.)

Eventually they are the last two remaining. In the bright light of day, when both should be soundly asleep, Fenrich sits awake and cradles Valvatorez’s frail form. All blood is refused, it cannot be forced down, and it makes him feel helpless. His Lord has withered. He is so small, and he is dying in agony, and Fenrich can do nothing for him.

When the day comes that they are overpowered and bound in chains, the opportunity presents itself again. Fenrich plans an escape route so, so easily, and should he leave Valvatorez behind it would be perfectly viable. Leave him as the true target of the attack, let them do Hades-knows-what to him. He wouldn’t be able to run, anyway. So it makes more sense to leave him. Loyalty is unnatural among demons. Betrayal is to be expected. He’s said as much himself in the past, and Valvatorez’s tired eyes tell him that he really would understand if Fenrich left for greener pastures.

The moon says no to that.

_Fenrich_ says no to that.

Together they are bound, and together they are punished and condemned and tossed to Hades. Life goes on. They build a home, and Valvatorez, having found himself a new source of food, puts 400% into Prinny instruction. Fenrich is right there alongside him. He calculates, and Valvatorez creates, and soon Prinnies are coming out of Hades at the highest quality ever known to demonkind.

Fenrich can’t say he’s satisfied with this life. Mundanity is not something he’s ever coped well with. It leaves him antsy, wanting, fidgeting. His fur grows coarse and his claws curl in and his bones ache with repetitive motion. Routine isn’t good for him.

He forms one anyway, because _all_ is for his Lord.

He works, he eats, he goes to bed. Years go by. Valvatorez is still adjusting to his limited body, still struggling after having stepped away from Death’s door through the might of sardines. How is someone supposed to adapt to daily splitting headaches and burning joints and straining organs? 

Every morning, Fenrich’s work begins with him as he drags a weak and pained man from his coffin. He dresses him, gives him his daily briefing, and gets the latest class of Prinnies ready for whatever asinine rule they have to have drilled into them for the day. Days end when both of them are bathed and fed. Valvatorez falls to sleep ever so quickly, and Fenrich is left to his own devices before bed. Sometimes he paces, sometimes he starts fights. Sometimes he writes his mounting stresses down. Usually, he sleeps very little, choosing instead to watch over his Lord out of habit. No one would bother assassinating a Prinny instructor, surely, and yet the thought plagues Fenrich’s paranoid brain.

More years go by. They lean on one another for support the whole time. Valvatorez slowly and steadily regains strength.

Total universal domination still haunts Fenrich’s dreams. Sweet and seductive, inviting, indulgent. To be a king, reclining on a silver throne that brings him no harm, served by peons too fearful to even consider betrayal. Maybe a man on his knees for him, if he’s feeling saucy. And plates of fancy food. And gold. Let all gaze upon him and know glory and power! Once just another lowly child of the moon, now an invincible Tyrant, rising to join Her in resplendent radiance. Rich and respected and finally whole in a way he can’t explain.

When he wakes to find that gnawing _want_ in his gut again, he can’t help but to cry out in distress. He wants it all, and he has nothing.

Valvatorez, as well, haunts Fenrich’s dreams. Valvatorez the Tyrant, usually. Tall and imposing, a striking figure carved from moonlit marble hidden beneath shadowblack robes. He moves with the confidence of that noble demon he strives to be. This Valvatorez swans in and out of Fenrich’s paradise, occasionally joining him in excess and luxury, though more often dipping to the human world and returning with bloody crimson dripping over his ash-grey lips.

Sometimes, though, he is Valvatorez the Prinny instructor. Small and bone-white. Far more frail. Barely as strong as the average Slumber Cat. In these dreams they stay close. Fenrich defends his Lord, holds him, carries him in his arms. They escape Hades and they leave their Netherworld and they travel. They fish. They never worry about treachery and strife. Fenrich, setting aside his dream within this dream, makes Valvatorez his new dream. All is for his Lord.

Waking from these dreams is far more peaceful, yet at the same time far more bewildering. He has no idea how he’s supposed to interpret such things. 

How silly the unconscious mind can be. To link some dreams to desires, and others to duty… except are duty and desire really so distinct from one another here? It’s difficult to say.

His desire has always been money and power. Fenrich yearns for the money to live luxuriously, and the power to never find himself under the command of a larger, physically stronger demon. To be controlled and coerced isn’t his thing, you know?

When thinking of desire nowadays, however, he inevitably thinks of Valvatorez. Valvatorez and the moon and the vow to both that Fenrich swore. He can’t untangle his goals from his Lord anymore; they’re far too intertwined. To stay at Valvatorez’s side has, undeniably, become Fenrich’s desire as well. So strange, so strange. 

Where does duty fit into this, after all?

Even if his true goal grows further away each and every day, even if his body rots away in the core of the Netherworld’s cesspit of lowlives and shitheads, he would not trade his position for that of any other. And frustratingly, he doesn’t understand why. Is _this_ his duty? So dutiful is he that he’ll push beyond his own selfish, demonic impulses to stay at Valvatorez’s side? To throw every calculated move he’s ever made away in order to fester in Hades beside a washed-up Tyrant makes no sense!

And he did it anyway. He wants Lord Valvatorez. He wants to see him succeed. He swore himself to him, and thus is his duty. Except, thinking on it, Fenrich wants more than that. A future together is desire, not duty. That’s his final verdict. And with his other dreams dashed at Tyrant Valvatorez’s fall, Fenrich would rather cling to the scraps of the one desire he _has_ achieved than give that up to chase any other alone.

He throws himself into work. Both the taming of the Prinny scum the pair of them are tasked with, and the personal.

He has to add blood to things. Just in case. He’ll prick his finger over a sardine’s gasping mouth. He’ll slice his palm as he kneads the bread. Slit his wrist over a glass of wine. Only ever a tiny amount, but Valvatorez always notices regardless. Fenrich’s scent is, to a vampire, more potent than that of the sardines he so adores. He won’t break his stupid promise, always handing off his tainted meal to some lucky nearby Prinny before gently chastising Fenrich. Amusement paints his face more than anger when he catches his scheming steward’s tricks. Though Fenrich’s frustration with the situation swells, he can’t find any resentment in himself for dear Lord Val.

Valvatorez and Fenrich do not _really_ discuss the latter’s ambitions, not when Valvatorez catches his steward slipping human blood into his meal for the tenth time, not for the thousandth time. Those goals, those _desires_ of his remain unspoken, though unhidden. Eccentricity is Lord Valvatorez’s charm, not ignorance, and he must know what Fenrich wants whether he acknowledges it or not. 

..So why does he make no move? Why does he find contentment in the Netherworld’s worst job? Perhaps it is some form of longform masochistic torture. Perhaps Fenrich has overestimated him, and Valvatorez _has_ truly forgotten Fenrich’s lofty goals, and has grown soft and settled into his new home at the bottom of the societal hierarchy. It’s been centuries now, and Valvatorez still isn’t ‘healthy,’ even after all this time. He probably never will be again unless Fenrich gets him to break his promise. The amount of strength he has recovered grows each day, and at the same time is insignificant. So it could be that he accepts what Fenrich cannot. He accepts that he had the world and lost it, and will never get it back.

  
  


One day, hours before Valvatorez awakens, Fenrich passes a mirror and sees an older man reflected. He’s still in his prime, yes, but time is having its way with him. Dark circles beneath sunken eyes, furrowed brow, the permanent crease of a scowl at the edges of his mouth; all point to Fenrich getting older and letting the years pass without his desire being prioritised, let alone fulfilled.

Later that same day, he’s cooing a reminder of all he wants into his Lord’s ear amidst sickly-sweet compliments. His teeth may rot out, his face may flush, he may forever have the distinct aftertaste of a vampire ass-kissing session on his tongue, but he plants seeds in Valvatorez and nurtures them until they sprout.

Valvatorez is always easy to manipulate, thinks Fenrich. He’s kind and _trusting_ , so willing to listen to critique and feedback on his journey to be the most noble of demons. A perfect little pawn to move as he should require.

...Yet Fenrich is almost always the one coerced into moving as _Valvatorez_ sees fit, not the other way around. How peculiar, now that he really thinks about it. He’s spent centuries thinking he’s the one leading their little liar’s waltz, only for the obviousness of Valvatorez almost always getting his way from Fenrich to spring up and slap him in the face here. 

Why is that?

Why is saying no to him so difficult?

Why, even when he can’t bite back his blade-sharp words and delivers them to his Lord in the form of some backhanded compliment, does he continue to follow his whims? 

He hates being coerced. Always has. Never an agreeable sort, Fenrich. This should bother him more than it does. He can’t understand why it doesn’t bother him the way it should.

( _Both of us use one another_ is the answer he settles on. Fenrich pointedly ignores that that raises the question of _why_ he’s so comfortable with the idea of his Lord using him.)

Fenrich uses Valvatorez for his own purposes.

Valvatorez uses Fenrich for his own purposes.

They are Master and Servant in name only. They are ‘comrades,’ as Lord Valvatorez puts it. Equals putting on a show of lord and subject for their mutual benefit.

With Fenrich below him, Valvatorez looks powerful. Respectable. Worth going to the ends of the earth for. He has a loyal steward willing to do anything and everything for him. They _do_ anything and everything together. They are two halves of a frightening whole.

With Valvatorez above him, Fenrich needn’t worry of unwanted attention. He can slink in the shadows as he prefers, emerging to strike or to slay or to slip strategies into his Master’s malleable mind. Val will bounce ideas back, warp them into his own vision, but Fenrich doesn’t mind. Every move he suggests is another step toward his ambitions.

**_They are two halves of a frightening whole._ **

Another routine morning. Fenrich laces his Lord’s corset, noting the way his undershirt hangs loose over his frame. Well-pronounced ribs jut out under his skin. Fenrich feels them under his fingertips and cringes. He’s felt them every morning for three hundred and sixty four years now, but today he lingers on them too long. Half a second ticks by before, in a jolt of surprise, Valvatorez’s wings spring up, knocking Fenrich away.

“Why do you do that?” asks Valvatorez, unapologetic as any should expect a demon to be.

“M-My Lord,” stammers back Fenrich. “I, uh… Call it a moment of distraction. I won’t allow it to happen again.”

“Distraction. Is my body that distracting?”

That’s a hell of a question. Fenrich clears his throat, cooly slipping back into a mask of composure. _There is nothing behind it_ , he assures himself, _Lord Val is just an oddball_.

“I found my thoughts wandering to your old form, and was thinking of nutritional methods to restore your body further. Current ones seem to be… lacking a bit, wouldn’t you say?”

Although Valvatorez is facing away, Fenrich can tell by the slump in his wings that he’s making a face at that comment. He’s not one to fall to despair over such insignificant words, but he’s sure not thrilled about them. Oops.

“Fenrich,” starts Valvatorez, sounding positively irate, “are you telling me that you doubt me?”

“N-No, of course not!”

“You doubt my… sardine research?”

Oh, here we go.

Fenrich stands, head bowed and tail tucked, as Valvatorez launches into another of his sardine-themed word vomits. The lecture goes on for what feels like hours as he dumps information in sporadic bursts, occasionally taking pause to consider where next to go. The original point is lost to Fenrich until Valvatorez circles back around, jumping off a tangent marginally related to protein to bring himself back to the point of strength. He does, at least, concede that sardines aren’t enough to boost him to his former glory… at his current intake. That phrasing has terrifying implications, because with Valvatorez, no extreme is too far.

For the first time in years, the idea of walking away floats through Fenrich’s mind. And is immediately dismissed. He can’t entertain the thought, for he’s thoroughly endeared to these situations by now. Fenrich sighs, grumbles, rolls his eyes, but when Valvatorez turns away he allows the undemonic, warm smile he’s been holding back to run free. His ambitions still burn with the same fervour they did all those years ago, he still has his _desire_ for the world and more, and that will not change.

And yet.

And yet.

And yet, Fenrich must admit to his prideful self that he’s feeling something akin to happiness when following Valvatorez’s lead. He feels comfort in their modest life. Though desire to have more, _be_ more continues burning at the core of his rotten soul, it does not grow to the unbearable extremes it once did. He can tolerate this life for a few more centuries. As long as Valvatorez is here.

( _Why is that?_ echoes again in his head.)

More time passes. Comradery is, reluctantly, extended to more people. Fenrich is shunted aside in favour of that fucking thief angel, and the children are so difficult to bear with. He takes hits. He retaliates on behalf of his Lord Val. He gets stronger, working himself to his limits every fight for the sake of good growth. He takes a hell of an attack, and shrugs it off. A bit of internal damage is nothing. He doesn’t want that angel’s holy healing hands on him, either.

It’s a good opportunity to try again, however, and so he turns up the drama and begs Val to drink him. A ‘dying wish’ to lay eyes on the monster he once was, pleaded for shamelessly with shallow breath and wet eyes. It does not work. Valvatorez’s staunch refusal breaks Fenrich’s facade quickly, and he takes his frustrations out on the kitty demon that foolishly thought she could kill him. The damn cat’s claws leave a scar.

Stupidity occurs. Axel is now the president. Ignoring him, the Hades party travels to the human world. It stinks of foul chemicals. Poison fills his ancient lungs, and Fenrich laughs at the idiocy of humanity destroying their own world. He tears their precious machinery to pieces with his bare hands. The lass impresses him with her show of force against her own father. Val approves, and so Fenrich does as well. Things are looking up.

Looking up.

Up.

_She_ is put in danger, high above them. The moon, Fenrich’s mother, Fenrich’s goddess, is threatened, and he grows hysterical at the idea. Valvatorez’s vow to protect Her for Fenrich’s sake is all that calms him.

They do it through the power of angels (and stupid giant mechs), and Fenrich likes to think that She appreciates Her child’s dedicated defence of Her, of the vows She blessed between him and Val.

The six of them move on. They defy God. They defy Death. They defy Fear the Great. Nemo’s pathetic form falls before them when God’s last resort is done with him. Quivering, broken, free. They’ve fought the laws of the universe, of every sapient species’ planet, and won.

Then Val disappears.

He’s there one second, gone the next. A flash of light stings Fenrich’s eyes and steals his Lord from him.

Both he and Artina lurch forward, hands grasping at the empty space where Valvatorez stood mere moments ago, cries of his name on their lips. He isn’t here, gone without a trace.

Staring at the empty spot sends a wave of sudden nausea rippling through him. Dread has risen high in Fenrich, and a glance to Artina shows his own feelings mirrored on her face. There is fear in the tense, precarious variety in the lines of her frown, in the set of her jaw. She is afraid. For the first time since Fenrich met her, the fearless human girl that robbed his Lord of glory is afraid. If this situation were anything else, he’d be laughing.

“Where the hell’d he go?” Emizel asks, anxiously wringing the bottom of his hoodie through his fingers. His cracking voice manages to snap Fenrich from his despairing horror.

“There’s no sunlight… he can’t have turned to dust or anything!” cries Fuka, before jumping to her next asinine conclusion. “Hey, Artina, ya don’t think God’d stop and smite Valzy for interrupting Fear the Great, do you?”

Smite him, how ridiculous! Smite him?

…

...Smite him.

If that’s what has happened, Fenrich doesn’t know what to do. The sound of his own claws scratching against the stone beneath as he paces is all he can think to focus on. Every step is one more forward in a world without Val, and he _will_ overcome this, _will_ go on alone, _will_ see to it that his dream comes to fruition… except it won’t, because his dream was wrapped up in Valvatorez, and Valvatorez is now gone.

“Mr. Valzy…” whines Desco, before latching onto Fenrich’s hip and whimpering. Any other day he’d berate her for touching him and kick her away, but right now, he’ll allow it, just for a bit.

“Don’t worry, guys! I’m sure it’ll all be okay!”

Artina pushes a smile over her glossy lips, beaming brightly in a useless attempt to hide the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

“Mr. Vampire’s not going to just… I mean, he’ll definitely be back! He’s a tough little guy.”

“You’re an angel, aren’t you? You shouldn’t lie to children and act like you’re sure of things. Admit you’re exactly as uncertain and frightened as the rest of u- _them_.”

A slip of the tongue. No one should notice.

“I’m _trying_ to give them hope, Mr. Werewolf.”

She hisses it through gritted teeth as she tries to hold her smile in place. Her watery eyes narrow, and a tear springs free, sliding down her rose-red cheek. Fenrich, for once, sympathises. He has no intention of admitting that.

“Hope is _pointless_ if founded in futility, and, if what happened to my Lord was, in fact…” 

A thought he cannot finish. It hurts. More than the cracked ribs Fear the Great gifted him with. More than the split knuckles and the black eyes and the broken claws. He is wounded by the idea of being a lone wolf once again. Fenrich finds that he must fight to stay upright, to not double over as he pants and panics and grieves all at once. He should be calm. He needs to be calm.

Artina moves to his side. Panic coursing through him leaves him incapable of lashing out at her for the audacity. Fuka, too, moves in. She holds one of Desco’s paws. Emizel reluctantly moves in and finds a place beside Artina. Her arm slides around him protectively, comfortingly. _Useless gesture_ , thinks Fenrich.

Minutes tick by. Or seconds, maybe? He can’t tell. Everything feels swimmy and distant. His eyes are closed, Val’s cheerful smile seared onto the inner sides of his eyelids. Letting it go is unimaginable right now. He must see it. He must see Val. He _needs_ Val the way he needs air (which is to say, he won’t die without him but he sure won’t be comfortable), and he can’t open his eyes and accept that he isn't there. He won’t do it.

Another light shines, bright and all-consuming. Those stubbornly-shut eyes of Fenrich’s snap open, Valvatorez’s smile dissolving into bleak nothing as the blinding light greets him. Startled, Artina grabs him by the hand, and he’s too busy with figuring out what the hell is happening now to break her fingers as punishment.

Valvatorez is returned to them with little fanfare.

So casually he speaks of having words with God, that Fenrich almost collapses into a fit of joyous laughter. Restrained, he instead just smiles. Smiles as Desco and Artina let him go to crowd Lord Val. Smiles as Emizel fumbles his way through reaping his first soul. Smiles as, while they return home, he and Val and Artina are made to carry the tired children when their little legs can do no more. Fuka on his back, snoring lightly, is not enough to sour his mood.

Valvatorez is _beaming_ with the pride of his victory, far brighter than the imagined smile Fenrich had held onto in those panicked moments, far brighter than the light of God that had threatened to whisk him away for the rest of time. The sight enthralls Fenrich. Try as he might, he can’t tear his gaze from his Lord as they make their way home.

It’s two nights after they return to Hades that Valvatorez insists they speak privately in his chamber. Nothing bad. A conversation about plans moving forward. Fenrich leans against the cage-like wall, backlit by ever-flowing magma and raging ember as he lays out his new ideas. It’s a delight to watch Val’s face as he takes in Fenrich’s schemes. There’s a certain look in his eye that comes out only in these moments, a glint of deviousness that is so often absent from Valvatorez’s sweet and earnest face.

They laugh together. They pitch strategies and correct one another. They sit close when they move to the bed, Val almost in Fenrich’s lap. They touch casually. Fenrich casts off his jacket when the room’s heat grows too much for him, only for Val’s cold hand to slide onto his shoulder and leave him shuddering. His Lord laughs again.

When absolutely sure no Prinnies or annoying teenaged human girls lurk nearby, Fenrich allows himself a tender moment to kiss Val’s forehead and tell him how glad he is that he’s safe. Valvatorez being Valvatorez, he completely ruins Fenrich’s show of sincerity by telling him that Artina shared similar sentiments. 

Fenrich’s mood curdles so quickly it may as well be Flora Beast milk.

He knows that his Lord loves Artina. He knows, believe him. He wouldn’t lash out if he didn’t think it was the case. He wouldn’t be needlessly cruel in his comments, wouldn’t weave misogynistic blanket statements that catch him flack from every side. He _knows_ Valvatorez loves Artina.

...Or the idea of her, anyway. They bicker constantly. Never seem to be as doe-eyed and dreamily in love as Val’s centuries of pining would make him think. They aren’t sweethearts.

But she’s got a _way_ of teasing Valvatorez that makes him smile. The way they snark at each other is full to the brim with fondness. It’s a connection akin to that which Lord Val and Fenrich share. Fenrich doesn’t know how to deal with that.

For so long, it’s been just him and Val and the idealised memory of the holy human girl that touched Valvatorez’s dead heart. Now that she’s here in the flesh, things are different. Now that they have the girls and Emizel, things are different. Change is good in some ways, like how it has made Val the hero of Hades, of their entire Netherworld, of Celestia and Earth, but it isn’t fair how their dynamics must change. Fenrich can’t deal with that change.

“My Lord,” he starts off, trying to choose his words carefully, “About… that _woman_ …”

Now it’s Valvatorez’s turn to frown as his own mood sours.

“ _Artina_ , Fenrich. Ar-ti-na. It’s less syllables than _my_ name, for badness sake! You can at least use your comrade’s name.”

Admittedly, the scolding takes him aback. He’s so unused to breaks in Val’s amicable demeanour. The number of times he’s been snapped at like that are so few that he can count them on one hand, and to be the direct cause is _awful._ Fenrich quickly bows his head, apologising for his disrespect turning Val’s mood like that.

His apologies are not enough.

Valvatorez grips his chin and makes the bold choice to force eye contact. With how uncomfortable it often makes him, Fenrich knows that this is serious. So now he’s getting uncomfortable too, and he squirms against the stiff bed sheets.

“I know you don’t care for her. I know you don’t care for any of our friends, but especially her. The thing though, Fenrich, is that I _do_. I... value Artina dearly.”

His sickly grey-white cheeks are stained with yellowing splotches that dip to orange-brown and then red as a blush blooms across them. Blue lips shift to a lively pink. Fenrich feels like there’s a stake being driven into him with every obvious change on his Lord’s face.

But Val continues.

“I value her as a precious person, just the same as I do you, and I can’t allow you to keep just - just - ! Damn it, Fenrich, you understand, don’t you?!”

He probably would, but his mind is caught up in the whirlwind of hearing right from Val’s mouth that he is valued as a precious person, the same as his Lord’s ‘beloved.’

Fenrich swallows hard and nods. His own face has gone hot.

“Y-Yes, Lord Val.”

“Good man.”

A bow and a mumbled excuse, and Fenrich hurries from the chamber, forgetting his jacket and paying no mind to the passing Fuka, who lays eyes on his red face and bare chest and immediately starts yelling for him to ‘spill the zesty deets’ to her. There’s some small satisfaction to slamming his door in her face. Quickly, though, it’s gone as he’s consumed with… whatever bewildering feeling that knowing he’s valued has bestowed upon him.

He stares his bedraggled, sleep-deprived self down in the mirror. Slaps his cheeks to try and snap himself from the daze he’s stumbled into, but to no avail. Everything is so much, and bonds unspoken for years expressed in such a way have thrown Fenrich into a state that he can’t begin to describe.

A hundred strange comments from the lass suddenly flood his mind, and he can’t believe that she of all people is the one getting him to think about this properly. From questions about the nature of their closeness, to comments about his jealousy, to asking him to his face if he ‘swings that way.’ He does, not that it’s any of her business, but at the time he hadn’t made the connection of _why_ she asked when she did. She’s carried on pestering him and Val and Artina about love since then.

Normal demons do not ‘love,’ is the thing.

They fulfil desires, then turn around and stab each other in the back. That part’s off the table for him and Val. Val does things so, so differently, and even their friendship is peculiar for demonkind. Werewolves maybe less so as pack creatures, but vampires for sure.

Their relationship of ‘master’ and ‘servant’ is strange in a way most demons would think perverse, as Fenrich knows, as Fenrich has thought about too many times to count. Far too intimate, physically and emotionally, to be normal.

…It’s possible, he supposes, that the things he’s feeling for Lord Val go beyond fire-forged comradery and mutually-beneficial servitude. It could be that his own emotions are more in line with what Artina feels for Valvatorez. Feelings Valvatorez reciprocates with her. Feelings that he insisted ten minutes ago are the same intensity as what he feels for Fenrich.

It could be the ‘love’ that Fuka is forever cooing about.

**_Fuck._ **

**Author's Note:**

> the line about flora beast milk inspired an extremely cursed conversation among my friends while I was writing this


End file.
